


How Not to Kill the 53rd F***ing Abhorsen

by QueenSabriel



Category: Old Kingdom - Garth Nix
Genre: F/M, Flashback, Minor Violence, Missing Scene, adult language ooooo, dumb jokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-16
Updated: 2014-10-16
Packaged: 2018-02-21 09:06:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2462579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenSabriel/pseuds/QueenSabriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The only time Sam had seen [his father's] fury was when a false ambassador from one of the northern clans had tried to stab Sabriel with a serving fork at a formal dinner..."</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Not to Kill the 53rd F***ing Abhorsen

“…so the farmer looks at the door, then back at the stable boy, ‘So that’s the cat,’ he says, ‘But why are you so red in the face?’ and the stable boy…” Touchstone paused for dramatic effect, “ _He_ says, with this smug look, ‘If the cats at the door…where d’you think your wife is?’”

The amount of uproarious laughter that followed was enough to indicate just how much wine had been  consumed through the course of the dinner. Though to Touchstone’s credit, that particular joke hadn’t been heard in Belisaere since he was a teenager.  Sabriel, all but shrieking with laughter, had both hands over her face, perhaps to hide just how pink her cheeks had gone.

A hand tugged on her sleeve. “Mother, I don’t get it. What’s so funny?”

“Oh.” Sabriel wiped her hand over her eyes, smiling blearily down at her daughter. “Ask me that again in about fifteen years, Elli.”

For an eleven year old, Ellimere certainly had perfected her eyeroll. “You’re _drunk_ ,” she said, which prompted another bout of laughter from the people seated around the high table.

“Maybe a little bit,” Sabriel said, scooping Ellimere into her lap and kissing her temple. “But I’m still not explaining that joke to you.”

“Daddy?” Ellimere turned her gaze to her father.

“Oh no, I defer to your…your mother on…everything,” Touchstone said, waving his hand.

One of the women laughed. “And now we know why the kingdom is prospering so!”

“Truer words…” Sabriel said, grinning as she leaned in to kiss her husband, much to the delight of their guests.

Ellimere groaned and pushed off of her mother’s lap. “I’m going back to Sam, _that’s_ how embarrassing you are!” She turned and flounced off, her dark curls bouncing.

Not long after Elli had run off back to where Sameth was sitting, Jall Oren approached the king and queen’s seats, the corner of his mouth crooked in the closest he ever came to expressing amusement.

“Come to make sure we’re behaving?” Touchstone asked, turning in his seat.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, sire,” Jall replied with a slight bow. “No, I’ve simply come bringing a guest who wished to meet her highness personally…”

Sabriel smiled and got to her feet, a bit more unsteadily than she might have hoped. She looked past Jall to the man he had brought up, a large man, taller than Touchstone even, and just as solidly built. He wore elegant silver trimmed furs over the colorful ceremonial clothing of the northern tribes and had a solemn face framed by long dark hair.

“Jiqir is of the Irkil clan,” Jall said, gesturing. “They live in the taiga hundreds of miles north of the Clayr’s glacier…”

“I do not believe we’ve had any of your kin at our table before,” Sabriel said, smiling, careful to not stumble over her own words. “We are honored by your presence, Jiqir.”

“And I by yours, Abhorsen,” Jiqir said, a little stiffly. He took another step closer, and were she a little more sober Sabriel might have been alarmed by this. Jiqir cleared his throat. “It was a long journey to be here…I am honored that you would hear my words.”

Expecting some sort of benediction or message from his tribe, Sabriel smiled politely. “Please, tell me.”

Jiqir moved even closer, making it apparent that whatever he had to say was for her ears only. When he was close enough that Sabriel could smell the scent of leather and pine trees that clung to him, Jiqir whispered in her ear –

“ _Chlorr sends her regards_.”

Before Sabriel had a chance to pull forth a Charter spell, Jiqir had a hand over her mouth and nose, using his full, crushing weight to throw her to the floor. Her head cracked against the stone, dazing her, and Sabriel looked up in time to see that Jiqir had something metal in his hand. She wondered dimly how he could have gotten a weapon into the palace, then instinctively grabbed at her attacker’s arms as Jiqir stabbed downwards, the object in his hands catching the light.

He was stronger than her, and all Sabriel managed to do was keep the sharp, bright thing from stabbing into her heart. It tore into her shoulder instead, driving deep and eliciting a pained sob from her lips.

The sudden feeling of Jiqir being pulled off her was accompanied by a furious, snarling cry, and followed by a tremendous crash of breaking dishes and scattered cutlery. People screamed and scrambled out of the way, knocking over chairs. Someone grabbed Sabriel by the arm, helping her up and making sure she wasn’t too badly injured.

For a moment her head swam, and she focused on pulling what she assumed was a knife out of her shoulder. It clattered to the floor and she nearly let out a hysterical laugh; Jiqir had stabbed her with one of the large, silver-plated serving forks that had lain on the table.

Another loud roar and the sound of splintering wood had Sabriel on her feet, oblivious to the blood soaking through her dress and running down her arm. Touchstone had been the one to pull Jiqir from her; Touchstone, who was by now completely lost in a berserk rage, his face red, lips curled back to bear his teeth in an expression that made it hard to imagine he had been laughing not five minutes ago.

The guests had fled to the far corners of the vast room as Touchstone picked up the now bleeding and nearly unconscious Jiqir and hurled him hard against a stone pillar. Guards rushed forward, but they looked uncertain as to whether they should try to get the assassin, or to restrain their king.

“Stop!” Sabriel shouted, though her cry went unheeded by at least one of the young men.

Whirling around, Touchstone grabbed the guard and threw him against the wall, not quite as violently as he was attacking Jiqir, but enough that the young man sank to the floor unconscious. The rest of the guards paid attention to _that_ , at least, remaining in their place and looking to their queen.

Dizzy with pain, Sabriel looked around. She spotted her handmaid and the children off to the side; Ellimere looked horrified, Sameth sobbing silently, his small, pudgy hands pressed over his mouth.

“For Charter’s sake, get them out of here!” Sabriel shouted, gesturing, though she instantly regretted it as the sudden movement caused pain to lance down her arm. She grimaced, briefly looked at the blood dripping from her fingers, then turned and started straight across the room towards her husband, who had run out of things to throw at Jiqir and was trying to wrench the heavy, marble-based throne up.

Damed appeared then, throwing one arm out to stop Sabriel, his eyes wide, demeanor uncharacteristically anxious. “Highness, he could kill you, please don’t!”

“I…” Sabriel tried to push her husband’s bodyguard out of the way, “I am the only one he won’t hurt when he’s like this! But if you wish to try and calm him…by all means be my guest.”

“As you say,” Damed held up his hands, stepping aside.

Sabriel ran the rest of the way to Touchstone, reaching out with her right hand to grab his arm.

For a brief moment, she thought that Touchstone didn’t recognize her. He spun around with a snarl, raising one hand, but all he did was put it against her chest and push her firmly to the side before grabbing a tall brass candle stand and throwing it like a spear at Jiqir, though it clattered harmlessly against the wall, for Damed and a burly guard had managed to dart in and extract the limp form of the northerner.

When Touchstone bent over to grab at the throne again, Sabriel practically climbed onto his back, wrapping her good arm around his chest and using her bloodied hand to stroke his cheek, his temple, his forehead, pressing her lips to his ear.

“Please, Touchstone, calm down, please my love I’m here I’m right here you need to just _breathe_ , darling _please_ …”

With her body pressed against him, Sabriel could feel the feverish heat of his skin, how his chest was heaving like that of an ox who had just run the length of several fields. She continued to whisper to him, kissing his jaw, wiping the flecks of foam and spit from his mouth and leaving streaks of blood across his face that probably just left him looking more and more like a crazed madman.

Then Touchstone started to relax. He turned, some remnant of his unnatural strength allowing him to lift Sabriel and set her in front of him. The tension fled from his form when he realized – at the same time Sabriel did – that she was crying and trembling violently. 

“Oh…Sabriel…” he sighed mournfully. “I’m…sorry…” He sank to the floor, all his muscles going limp, eyes sliding momentarily out of focus.  

Sabriel went down with him, hiding her face against his red and gold doublet until she managed to control herself. She took his handkerchief too, wiping her face before she stood and looked around. The guards had managed to get mostly everyone out of the room. Shemblis had already been called and had apparently made sure Jiqir wasn’t actually dead. The would-be assassin now stood, with difficulty, between two of the royal guards.

He met Sabriel’s icy gaze and looked, if possible, even more terrified.

“A necromancer,” she said, her voice getting louder with each word, “told you to kill _me_ – the fifty-third fucking _Abhorsen_ – and you decided…to use…a Charter-damned _fork_?!”

Silence met that. Utter silence, which was broken finally by the weak, unmistakable sound of Touchstone struggling not to laugh. Sabriel found a hysterical giggle rising in her throat as well. She lifted a hand to her forehead, and probably would have fallen if Damed hadn’t reappeared, holding her upright until someone brought a chair over.

Shemblis was at her side as well, unceremoniously ripping the shoulder of her dress so he could see the injury itself.

“A fork,” Sabriel whispered, trying to look down as strong healing marks flared under the doctor’s hand, which was now gently resting over the wound. “A bloody fork.”

Damed looked Shemblis in the eye and added dryly, “She also hit her head pretty hard, if that wasn’t obvious.”

“I’m also still pretty drunk if that wasn’t obvious,” Sabriel whispered.

Shemblis snorted, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “Well thank the Charter for small miracles.”

***

Small miracles persisted through to the following morning, when Sabriel awoke without much of a hangover, and only a few remaining aches and pains from the attack. She rolled over, throwing her only slightly sore left arm over Touchstone’s chest as she pressed her face to his neck.

“You alright?” Touchstone murmured without opening his eyes.

“Mhmm.”

“Are the children alright?”

“I’ll go check on them in a bit. I’m sure they’ll be fine.”

Touchstone grunted, wrapping both arms around her. He kissed the top of her head, then shifted so he could look down at her. “Sabriel?”

“Hm?” She craned her neck, peering up.

Touchstone grinned. “Happy birthday.”

“You owe me, big time, your highness,” Sabriel said, pretending to scowl at him.

“Oh?” He kissed her forehead. “How can I make it up to you? A new set of silverware? – ow! – Better guards? Oh! I know, I’ll have that fork mounted with a sign saying ‘How not to kill the fifty-third fucking Abhorsen’! Or maybe –“

Whatever he was going to say was lost as said fifty-third Abhorsen and Queen of the Old Kingdom used a large feather pillow to hit her husband squarely in the face.


End file.
